


Malfoy, Mannered

by jnronner



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:38:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jnronner/pseuds/jnronner
Summary: After the showdown at Malfoy Manner, Hermione Granger finds herself back in the dungeon due to a Stunning spell gone awry. With the help of Draco, she escapes to find that the war has not gone well. Could she be the last chance the Wizarding World has to stop Voldemort?





	1. chapter one -- a napkin

Malfoy Manor was not a place one would want to spend a long period of time.

Hermione was sure, in most other circumstances, she would have enjoyed her stay. Perhaps if she hadn’t been locked in the dungeon for weeks on end, or if the house didn’t belong to one of the most prominent families in support of Lord Voldemort, things could have been different. But they weren’t, and as a result, she despised the situation. 

She wasn’t really sure how she came to be here; she was told that she was Stunned in a battle when her friends escaped. How they had gotten caught, Hermione was unsure of. She had used every protective charm she could think of, every trick in the book. And yet she, along with Harry and Ron, had somehow ended up here. Her memories were hazy at best, due to the spell that had incapacitated her in the supposed battle. She remembered flashes of light, and a house-elf, and a knife of some sort. And pain. Definitely pain. 

Every day, Draco Malfoy would slip into the dungeon. He would bring her food and drink, and on rare occasions, conversation. From what she could gather, the war wasn’t going well. Death Eaters seemed to be thwarting the Order of the Phoenix at every turn, at least according to Draco. Whenever he delivered news of another success, he seemed far less excited than one would expect him to be, almost as if he were regretful.

Today was no different. She woke up, back aching from sleeping on the cold stone. One would think that with all the money the Malfoys had, they could at least provide her with a pillow, or maybe a cot of some sorts -- anything would be better than what she had now. But she had to deal with it, and so she did. 

She walked around her cell, stretching her arms and legs as she did so. Malfoy would soon be down with some sort of breakfast for her, she assumed. There was no way to tell the passage of time, so she couldn’t be sure, but it felt to be around the time where he would do so. 

And indeed she was correct; within minutes Draco was descending the stone stairs. The tip of his wand was lit, to provide at least some light in the darkened dungeon. In his other hand, he balanced a tray, with bread and some sort of spread on it, probably butter, There was a pitcher of water and a cup next to the food, and a napkin. Other than the napkin, it was about what she got every morning, even if she hoped for something different. 

Draco placed the tray in front of her as she took a seat cross-legged on the ground. She was careful not to make any quick motions, for she had learned that doing anything of the sort would result in some sort of spell being shot her way. He was skittish at best, and Hermione found it amusing that her captor was more afraid of her -- even unarmed and defenseless -- than she was of him. All those years of intimidation at Hogwarts, and now he seemed to fear her, whereas she found the exact opposite true.

She looked at him expectantly, hoping for any news on how the battles were going. She was worried. For Harry, for Ron, for everyone. But he said nothing on the matter. She thought she may have seen an almost imperceptible shake of his head, but that may have just been her imagining things. The saying may be that no news is good news, but for Hermione no news was the worst news. 

After placing the tray down, Malfoy started to retreat. Ashe walked back up the stairs, something stopped him. He looked back at her. “Enjoy your meal,” he said, his tone almost cryptic. As he continued back up the steps, she started to ponder. What could it mean? 

She shook off the thought. It was probably just Draco trying to mess with her, make her paranoid. So she turned her attention to the task at hand -- food. 

Even though there was nobody watching her, Hermione felt the need to maintain at least a shred of self-respect. She didn’t devour her food, though she wanted to. She ate one bite at a time, savoring each one. Then she reached for the pitcher to pour herself a glass of water. This was where she didn’t succeed, she spilled some water onto the tray. In an effort to catch the water before it got to the bread (because she found soggy bread to be absolutely revolting), she ran the napkin over the wooden surface. Having dealt with the water, she crumpled up the napkin, and was about to throw it away until she realized there was ink running off of it. 

She looked down at her hands, and sure enough, they had ink on them too. So Hermione hurriedly uncrumpled the napkin to find the cause. 

There was a note. A note slipped in with her meal, as if somebody needed to discreetly slip her information without anybody else knowing. She couldn’t make out all the words, but she did see the phrase “Help coming soon. Wait for next message.” amongst the splotches. Help? Did that mean the Order was going to come get her? Yes, that was the only possible answer. 

And as she sat there in the cold dungeon, worries of soggy bread forgotten, Hermione Granger felt something she had not felt in over a month. She felt hope. Call it what you want -- hope for freedom, hope to win the war, hope for a clean bed. It was all the same to her, because she knew that soon she would not have to sit by idly. Soon, she could make a change.


	2. chapter two -- a plan

She couldn’t wait for the next message to arrive, not caring how it got to her. The gap between meals always seemed to be unbearably long, but today the wait was even worse. She must have paced the length of the dungeon over a hundred times, anxious to see whether there would be a napkin this time.

When Draco finally showed up with her midday meal, Hermione was so incredibly happy, she could have kissed him. (But she didn’t.) This time he seemed to be in a hurry, as if he were in some sort of trouble. He set the tray down and nearly bolted up the stairs, much to her surprise. But once again, she paid very little attention. She was focused on the tray,

Hermione spotted the napkin right away, tucked underneath the bread. But this time, it came with something different. There was a feather on the tray, red in color and shimmery. A phoenix feather?

She picked up the feather, and took a look at it. The more she stared, the more she was sure -- the Order was coming to rescue her. And Hermione had always hated the idea of being a damsel in distress, but now she was completely fine with the concept. She overturned the napkin, and read the clear print on the back of it. It read: “Voldemort coming tomorrow. Escape tonight, more details to come.” And that was when her heart dropped.

Voldemort? No, she couldn’t wait until tonight. She had to get out now. There was no way she was letting him get anywhere near her. He was coming to kill her, surely. That had to be it. She was going to die.

Hermione paced the length of the dungeon a hundred times over between lunch and dinner; she had walked so much that she could have sworn she was wearing a path into the stone. She couldn’t sleep, her brain was too active. Her fear prevented her from doing anything -- not that there was much she could do down there in the first place. When dinner came, she was nearly in tears.

As she heard the thudding down the stairs, she quickly made her way over towards the cellar exit. She was so happy to see Draco, she would have flung her arms around him. But it wasn’t Draco.

Instead, she was greeted by a woman in a black dress. She moved gracefully down the stairs, as if she were a tiger stalking her prey. Even with the tray, she was able to slink around the room. Her hair was a mess of dark curls, piled towards the sky. Bellatrix Lestrange.

As soon as she saw Hermione, Lestrange’s face lit up. She grinned, a sadistic smile that sent shudders down Hermione’s spine. “Hungry, are we?” Bellatrix giggled, holding the tray out to her. But just before Hermione was about to grab the tray, she let go, sending the bread and water tumbling to the ground.

The pitcher shattered on impact, sending water spilling all over the floor. _Shit._ She looked around at the damage Bellatrix had done, frantically scanning for a napkin. _Can’t wait to clean this one up._

As Bellatrix cackled maniacally, Hermione realized what she had feared had come true: there was no napkin this time. And no napkin meant no plan, no plan meant no escape, and no escape meant death. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she was watched intently.

“Enjoy your dinner, sweetie!” Bellatrix called as she spun around, strolling back up the stairs. She was assuming Hermione’s tears were over the food, but she knew what was coming. In twenty four hours, spilled water wouldn’t matter, because she had essentially just been sentenced to death.

And then Hermione was alone again -- alone with her fear. She sank down against the wall, slowly sliding to the floor, The tears were flowing now, streaming down her face. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to die alone, without her friends, young and helpless. She was supposed to grow old, fall in love, have kids. She was going to marry Ron, she’d hoped. But soon it would all be gone.

Her head buried in her hands, she didn’t look up when she hear creaking on the stairs. She must have been imagining something, because nobody was coming to save her. But then she heard a voice.

“Hermione!” It came from the top of the stairs; the speaker was shrouded in darkness. She couldn’t tell who it was. “I don’t have much time, but I’m going to get you out of here.”

She looked up, her tears drying up. Could it be the Order? Was she escaping? Hermione rose to her feet, ready to take action.

“There’s a secret passage out of here,” the voice said. Hermione started to look around, trying to find where is was. “You’re not going to be able to find it, I’m going to have to help you.” The voice was getting closer, nearing the faint light coming from the one lamp in the dungeon.

As the figure came closer to her, Hermione started to see the outline. With what little light was provided, she saw a young male, probably around her age, tall and broad-shouldered. As he talked more, she realized she recognized his voice -- from where, she wasn’t sure. And then, he stepped into the light.

If she hadn’t been in a state of panic already, she may have fainted. For standing in front of her, supposedly about to help her escape, was none other than Draco Malfoy.

Her jaw dropped. Seeing the shock on his face, he raised a single finger to his lips to silence her. “You need to be quiet,” Malfoy said. “They could hear us upstairs. They don’t know I’m down here, and I’d like to keep it that way.” So many questions sprung to her lips, but she knew she wouldn’t get answers for any of them tonight. Could she trust him? She wasn’t sure, but what other option did she have?

Draco stepped past her, and reached a hand out to the wall, as if he were feeling for some sort of catch. The bricks were all consistent; none stood out or gave off any traces of magic. Whatever he was looking for, it had been done incredibly well.

Finally, he stopped, as if he had found what he was looking for. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small knife, a twin to the one Hermione recalled seeing at the skirmish that had brought her here. He sliced open the pad of his pointer finger, and pressed it to the wall. Immediately the bricks started moving.

“It’s a secret exit,” said Draco. “It’s a way for us Malfoys to get out if we ever need to. The magic only works when our blood is used -- it’s almost foolproof. Very few people know about it, the only ones that do are the ones that can use it. And now you, of course.”

Hermione was impressed with how clever the idea was. Brilliant, actually, to have it only work for the masters of the house, that way prisoners couldn’t escape by finding it on accident. It was old magic, and it was incredibly powerful.

The doorway had formed, and Draco gestured towards it. “Follow this tunnel all the way out, it’s going to lead you off the grounds. From there, you can escape. Get to Hogwarts, I haven’t heard much but apparently Voldemort plans to strike a decisive blow there soon. He wants to finish off Potter.” His voice trembled as he delivered the news, almost as if he was sad to see the school go. Hermione nodded in response, still too stunned to say much.

Before she left, he grabbed her hand. Hermione turned back, shocked by the contact. He placed her wand in her hand. "The rest of the tunnel is magic-proofed, but once you get out you're going to need this." He managed a weak smile, though his face was filled with worry and hesitation.

Just having her wand filled Hermione with confidence. It had been weeks, months since she'd last had any contact with magic -- it was enough to make some wizards go crazy. And now, having it back filled her with a warmth. She could make it out of here.

She took her first step into the tunnel, afraid of what was to come. When she was told of rescue, this was nowhere near what she had pictured. But as she set off into the darkness, with only her own mind to keep her company, she looked back.

The doorway was closing, the bricks moving back into their original place. With them went most of the light she had, other than a few intermittent lamps on the ceiling of the path. Before they covered up his face, Hermione made eye contact with the boy who had just saved her life. And she saw something in his eyes, something confusing. She saw hope, and worry, and emotional conflict, all things she had never associated with a Malfoy. She looked past the villain she had always perceived him to be, and saw that he cared. She may have been alone in the tunnel, but maybe she wasn’t completely alone.


	3. chapter three -- a connection

It had been ages since Hermione had seen trees. 

For that matter, it had been forever since she’d seen anything aside from the basement of Malfoy Manor. She never thought she’d be so happy to see a pine tree, no matter how ridiculous that sounded. She breathed in a lungful of the fresh air, taking it all in.  _ God, I’ve missed this. _

But she had to get away from Malfoy Manor; it was dark and Voldemort was supposedly coming the next day. She definitely didn’t want to be around for that. The only question was, where to go?

After pondering for a few minutes, she settled on the Leaky Cauldron. Over the years, she’d gotten to know Tom, the manager, pretty well, and she was sure he’d be willing to offer her a bed for the night. And if there were any severe problems, she knew the Muggle world around it, so she could easily slip out and sneak away. She would have preferred to go somewhere else, such as the Weasleys’ house, but she wasn’t sure what places would be safe anymore. 

She was rusty after a few months without practice, but they didn’t call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing. After only a couple seconds of hesitation, Hermione Apparated to London.

The rush of magic in her veins was something she’d gotten acclimated to after years of using it. But after none of it for weeks on end, she had forgotten the feeling -- and it felt sensational. She appeared in a side alley about a block away from the pub, and walked the empty midnight streets to get there. 

The sign seemed to have fallen into disrepair to some extent, seeing as a few of the letters were missing and the witch’s cauldron that was usually pristine had developed a layer of grime. It was off-putting, but then again, there was a war going on. Who would have time to fix a sign?

She was hesitant to go in, because she didn’t know who would be in there. But it was a ridiculous hour; anybody who may have noticed her would likely be too drunk the next morning to remember. So she pushed open the door and walked in.

The pub was like she’d never seen it before -- completely barren of people. Chairs and tables were toppled over, and a layer of dust had developed over all surfaces. It was as if the restaurant had been vacated for about the same amount of time that she was in the Malfoys’ dungeon, if not longer. It was odd to see a place usually so filled with people to be completely empty. 

_ Well, at least I don’t have to worry  about being found here.  _ Hermione reasoned that if nobody had been here for such a long time, there was no reason for them to return. It was a safe place to hide for a night or two, until she could regroup and pull everything together.

She started on the path towards the stairs leading to the rooms, leaving footprints in the dust as she walked. She couldn’t imagine how amazing it would feel to sleep on a real mattress again, to have a pillow under her head. Wand in hand, she  unlocked the first bedroom she came to, and fell on the bed. She was so exhausted, she didn’t even care about the cloud of dust that flew into the air when she hit the mattress; she was asleep almost the second her head hit that pillow. 

Her sleep was restless, fitful.

_ He was in Malfoy Manor, staring down Lord Voldemort. “Bring me the girl.” The snakelike voice sent chills down his back, but he stayed composed.  _

Her dreams had an odd property to them, as if they were real. She didn’t know what it was, but something about them seemed genuine, and that scared her. 

_ Bellatrix walked down the stairs with him, excitement evident on her face. She wanted to be the one to bring the prize to the Dark Lord -- but thanks to him neither of them would be doing so. She looked around the dungeon, her wand outstretched. There was no sign of Hermione.  _

_ She paced through the entire dungeon, trying to figure out where the girl had gone. But she couldn’t -- she didn’t know about the passageway. His mother was smart; Narcissa had never trusted her with that knowledge. Bellatrix stormed back up the stairs, infuriated and clueless as to where she could have gone.  _

Her breathing quickened, her heart rate rose. Something was about to happen, she could feel it. 

_ “What do you mean you can’t find her?” The fury in Voldemort’s voice was evident. He seethed with rage, not wanting to believe that the Malfoys had messed up this badly. “Who was the last one to see her?” he asked forcefully.  _

_ He was met with silence. None were willing to speak up, to admit wrongdoing. Then Narcissa rose her voice. “It was Bellatrix, my Lord,” she said as she stooped into a humble bow. The Dark Lord turned to Bellatrix, and for the first time in his life he saw fear on her face.  _

_ “Is this true, Bellatrix?” Voldemort’s tone had turned cold, chilling to the bone.  _

_ “Yes, my liege. But I can explain…” Bellatrix’s voice quivered.  _

_ “There is no need to.” There was a pregnant pause, and then Voldemort slashed with his wand at her. “Avada Kedavra!” he roared.  _

She bolted awake, the flash of green light still bright in her eyes. Had Bellatrix Lestrange just been killed? Where was that dream coming from? 

Was the dream true? If it was, there was only one other instance in which she knew of it happening -- with Harry. And he was a Horcrux; she’d figured that one out. But she most definitely wasn’t, so what was this? And why, all of a sudden, did everything have to come back to Draco Malfoy?

Hermione warily made her way downstairs, careful to check and make sure nobody had gotten in while she was asleep. Wand in hand, she went to the kitchen to see if she could find food. 

After searching and finding nothing but some moldy bread, she decided she would need to figure something else out. She didn’t have any Muggle money on her, but she’d found some behind the register. As soon as she was composed enough, she would go and find food that way. 

She went back upstairs, determined to search all the rooms until she found clothes she liked. She wasn’t going to Summon them, because she didn’t know what kind of madness that could bring. So she reluctantly started in on the first room, hoping she wouldn’t find anything too insane. 

It wasn’t the first or the second, but the third room proved to be a success. Hermione had found a pair of jeans in her size, and a lilac top. While she didn’t particularly love the color, it would have to do. 

After spelling herself clean, she slipped into the outfit. It was much more comfortable than what she’d been wearing before, and much cleaner. She was ready to head out.

There was only one problem: just before she was about to leave, the room started to spin. Hermione felt incredibly light-headed, so she sat down in one of the few unruined chairs. That’s when the visions came again.

_ “It was you, wasn’t it?” Narcissa stood in front of him, her arms crossed. “You were the only one who knew about the passage. Your father was gone all yesterday, so it had to have been you.” He tried to hide it, tried to obscure his mind, but she was able to see right through him. He may have been able to hold off the Dark Lord, but that was nothing in comparison to the power his mother had; she was possibly the most talented Legilimens of her age.  _

_ “Rodolphus isn’t going to be happy, you know. He’s not going to just let it go -- he’s going to find out what really happened. And when he does, I suggest that you should be far away from this place.” Her tone was motherly yet firm, but he could hear the fear in it. “Draco, I don’t blame you for doing it. I don’t even disagree. But if anybody finds out, you’ll be killed on sight.” _

_ He nodded. “I know. That’s what I feared. But it was worth it, because I saved her life.” _

_ She pondered this thought for a few seconds. “Then you leave tonight,” Narcissa said. “I can cover for you for a couple of hours, maybe a day or two. But past that, they’ll know you’re gone and they’ll know why you ran. He's invading Hogwarts soon, and I fear that we will win. So get out of here, run as far and as fast as you can. Save yourself, my son.” Tears welled in her eyes as she finished.  _

_ He pulled her close, trying to put seventeen years worth of emotions into one hug. And then he let go. _

_ His room was cluttered, but he knew where the bag was. With a wave of his wand, it flew towards him, and he slung it over his shoulder. Taking one last look around at his childhood home, he let out a sigh. Then there was a loud crack and he vanished. _


End file.
